Wojciech Belik drew a deep breath, smoothing his crimson robes. Just as he prepared to press the buzzer, the airlock rumbled, and the hatch parted. Nimrod's resonant voice echoed forth.
"Enter."
The middle-aged man with neatly cropped brown hair froze momentarily, then reflected on the myriad powers of his sovereign. It was hardly surprising that Nimrod sensed his arrival.
As the hatch sealed, Wojciech spoke with deference.
"My king, you summoned me."
Nimrod inclined his head slightly. "You have admirably fulfilled the tasks I entrusted to you. I have decided to bestow upon you a reward."
"To serve you is my honor."
Wojciech bowed as he spoke, but his words had scarcely left his lips when he beheld a golden potion resting in the giant's open left palm.
His hazel eyes quivered. After a moment of silence, he took the potion and drank it in one swift motion.
As the elixir coursed through him, Wojciech's body trembled violently. A cataclysm of knowledge erupted within his mind.
Through "Memory Awakening," he vividly recalled every text, datum, and tome he had ever encountered, comprehending and mastering them with unparalleled clarity.
Wojciech discerned a profound distinction. In the past, his understanding of knowledge stemmed from the rote teachings of the Tech-Priests, steeped in religious reverence and ritual.
Now, he grasped the principles underpinning all he had experienced, as though reliving his life of mechanical communion through an entirely new perspective.
When Wojciech had previously selected high-molecular polymers to craft waterproof coatings, he had relied solely on the appendices of Chapter Twenty-Three, "Materials Guidance," in the Omnissiah's Directive Codex, which listed epoxy resin as suitable for the Cradle of the Sea.
Now he understood why epoxy resin was optimal: it was a rigid, high-molecular chemical material boasting high strength, toughness, waterproofing, weather resistance, and corrosion resistance, ideal for the high-stress, corrosive seawater environment.
Reeling from this paradigm-shifting revelation, Wojciech stood dazed for a long while before realizing he was floating above, gazing down at his red-robed body.
"Do as I command…"
Nimrod's commanding voice resounded, stirring Wojciech. Instinctively, he followed the giant's guidance, gradually calming himself.
One standard ship-hour later, Wojciech mastered meditation, returning to his corporeal state. Yet he remained stunned, staring blankly at the towering figure before him.
[He granted me such power—how could this be possible? Could he be the Omnissiah incarnate?]
After another ten seconds of silence, he spoke.
"My king, I am eternally grateful for your benediction. I vow to wield this gift in your service."
Nimrod, sensing Wojciech's emotional tumult, knew he required time to acclimate to this transformed reality. He would grant him that respite.
"Return and rest. Thereafter, I task you with unlocking the secrets within this data crystal."
Nimrod opened his right hand, revealing a crystalline cylinder, exquisitely crafted, twelve centimeters long and five centimeters in diameter, gleaming with artificial precision.
The Fra'ow, masters of aetheric mysteries, stored knowledge and information primarily in such crystals.
While Nimrod pursued his own research, he wished to test the capabilities of a "Reader."
"As you command, my king."
Wojciech reverently accepted the data crystal, his spirit invigorated. Rather than pondering whether Nimrod was the Omnissiah's avatar, he found solace in technical labor.
After Wojciech's departure, Nimrod retrieved another data crystal and commenced his own study.
At that same moment, within the Huntsman Dome of Tezwok.
An elderly figure, clad in a blue robe, his frame hunched yet chest abruptly arched upward, raised a left claw resembling a vulture's talon.
With a fierce grip, he seized the air, and several meters away, a foreman charging with a wrench felt an invisible hand clamp his throat.
"I never imagined that you underhive dregs would sacrifice yourselves for an oppressor from the upper spires."
The bald foreman gasped hoarsely, "Protect… Lord Howard…"
Workers from the scorched workshop, brandishing steel pipes, surged forward.
The "Arbiter's" charismatic allure had won their hearts. No longer driven by mere sustenance, they fought for their leader.
"Truly admirable!"
The vulture claw rasped against serpentine, writhing tendrils as the blue-robed elder cackled with astonishment.
"Howard Finde, your qualities inspire my admiration. I offer you an opportunity."
"Embrace the God of Wisdom and join the Great Enlightenment."
His ears twitched, heeding a voice from an unseen source.
"Yes, join us, and you shall achieve greatness."
"I assure you, do not rely on your subordinates."
Howard watched the bald foreman collapse, stunned for a moment. His mind flashed to the simple joy of receiving tuna and water.
Now, that same foreman charged to protect him, wielding a wrench—hardly a weapon—against the terrifying foe who slew the guard captain.
He saw the dome's workers fall one by one under the mutants' assault, yet none retreated. Clarity dawned within him.
[This is the power my lord spoke of!]
Yet Howard knew resolve could not bridge the chasm of strength. The wizard before him was too formidable.
His order to summon the Fifth Regiment had allowed ample time for their arrival, yet they remained absent, likely obstructed.
[I must slay the psyker-wizard!]
Howard raised his arm, leveling a heavy logging gun at the wizard.
A staccato of gunfire erupted, a dense barrage enveloping the wizard.
"A foolish choice."
The wizard raised his staff, telekinetic force bursting forth, forming an invisible barrier before him.
The hail of bullets halted midair, then, manipulated by "Mechanic Influence," reversed direction.
With a sharp gesture, the wizard sent the bullets hurtling back, and the Finde family's four remaining guards fell in pools of blood.
Bullets struck Howard's finely wrought power armor, eliciting dull thuds before clattering to the ground.
He noted several craters of varying depth marring his chestplate.
Releasing the logging gun, Howard swung his drill and charged the wizard.
The blue-robed psyker shook his head, lifting his left claw. The roaring drill halted an arm's length away.
His prismatic pupils glinted with mockery as he regarded the foolish noble.
The psyker faltered, finding no trace of despair in Howard's sapphire eyes.
In the next instant, he felt his staff-wielding right arm seized tightly.
Howard had deceived the wizard, exploiting his moment of presumed victory. The "Arbiter" launched a sudden assault, grasping the wizard's arm.
The blue-robed psyker, alarmed, raised his left claw to blast the golden-haired noble with telekinesis, but the "Arbiter" was swifter. As Howard seized the arm, he yanked it toward his chest.
The psyker lost balance, his spell fizzling. His neck was locked in the "Arbiter's" iron grip.
"I adjudge you—death!"
Howard's voice was glacial, his arms tightening.
A sharp crack resounded as the wizard's neck snapped.
The golden-haired noble raised his arm, pressing the drill savagely into the wizard's skull.
Moments later, confirming the wizard's demise, the "Arbiter" released his grip, casting the corpse aside.
Simultaneously, Howard felt something within him dissolving, merging with his spirit.